


Priceless

by yuckyrat



Category: Krampus (2015)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, OC is a little confused at the start but i promise he loves them back, Size Difference, mild constriction/asphyxiation stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckyrat/pseuds/yuckyrat
Summary: A collector and seller of antique toys gets more than they bargained for when an old, German jack-in-the-box turns up on their doorstep. (OCxCanon)





	1. Back to the old grind.

**Author's Note:**

> [First upload to Ao3! I'm suuuper nervous, but I'm hoping someone will like it! ;; Enjoy!]

On a cold Friday morning, with Christmas inching closer and closer, a tired hand flipped the sign in the old shop window from “CLOSED” to “OPEN”.

It was a family-owned shop, one passed down for generations. It was a modest-looking building; a humble brick exterior with cherrywood walls and an aging carpet floor. From the two large windows, adjacent to the store’s entryway, one could see that the interior of the store was lined from floor to ceiling with large shelves, stocked full of toys of all shapes, sizes, and time periods. A small counter with a register sat in the corner beside the door to the staff room, which had long since been converted into a small dormitory for the shop’s sole remaining owner: Devereaux D'amour.

Devereaux, or “Dev”, as locals called him, was the final inheritor of the D’amour antique store. He was a tall, lanky man, roughly in his early 30’s; he had syrup-brown hair with a caramel streak at the front and a nose that curved downward into a point. He donned a small, pencil-style mustache, and his eyes looked as though they were permanently sleepy. As he flipped the sign in the window display, he let out a long, tired sigh as he prepared for another day of work; or rather, lack thereof. 

Despite the holiday season creeping nearer, the little family store hadn’t had proper business for some time. Perhaps it was the location of the building, set aside of a plaza, or that the market for antique children’s playthings just wasn’t as high in demand as it once was. Whatever the cause for the drop in attendance, it meant that every day was a repetitive cycle for Dev; wake up, open shop, sit for hours with no customers, close shop, sleep, repeat. He hadn’t even been interested in his family’s business, but as the final descendent left, he had no choice but to carry the shop on his shoulders, even if it was well past being on its last legs. It was something he had grown to tolerate over the years. Fate was fate, after all. If he had to drag a long-dead business along for the sake of his family’s “legacy”, then so be it. At the very least, he fancied all the time to himself; no customers meant he could waste away the hours reading and resting to his heart’s content. Still, it was a lonesome job, even for an introvert such as himself. Unlocking the front door to the shop, he trudged over to the counter and slumped in the old, velvet chair behind it, putting his feet up beside the register and taking a sip of his morning coffee. All in all, it was just another, boring day in the old, dying store at the corner of the shopping plaza.

There was a small *thud!* at the doorstep.


	2. Wake-Up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devereaux receives a donation from an unknown source and attempts to assess his new item.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Phew! Done with Chapter 2! I'll get to work on 3 ASAP, since that's when the fun stuff is gonna start. Sorry for all the buildup!]

“What in the-?” Dev began, sitting straight up in his seat and turning his attention to the door. Customers usually knocked or walked in, not slam onto the doorstep like a brick. Was someone hurt? He immediately rushed to the scene to investigate, turning the knob and peeking outside.

On the ground at his feet sat an old, wooden box. Dev immediately recognized it as that of an old jack-in-the-box, likely from the late 1800’s. He could see its rusted metal hinges gleaming in the morning sunlight. Relieved, he checked around outside for whoever could have left the mysterious gift, but found no one. Regardless, a donation was a donation, even if anonymous. He lifted the box, which was alarmingly heavier than he’d anticipated, and brought it inside, sitting it on the counter and settling down in his chair to take a better look at it.

Upon impact with the desk, the gentle tinkling of a long-aged music box emerged from within, spouting a small array of miscellaneous notes. Devereaux chuckled. He’d figured whatever melody the box had originally played was long out of order, especially after being dropped on his porch. There was something charming about it, though; despite having lost its song, the little chimes inside were evidently still in-tact enough to play when the box was disturbed, which gave him hope that it would be repairable and, with any luck, sellable. He began to carefully rotate the box, examining the finely crafted woodwork and any wear it may have suffered over time. Adorning every face of the cube were hand-painted illustrations that showcased a rather grim sight: a monstrous, demonic creature with an impossibly long, blood-red tongue, stuffing children into sacks and punishing them in various fashions. Dev shuddered at the grisly imagery and tried to make out what the intent of the creature pictured was. 

Turning his attention to the lid of the box, he noticed a small engraving near the hinges, written in German. It had faded over time, but it was still discernible: “Gruß vom Krampus”. With the name of the deity revealed, Dev was struck with realization; “Krampus” was a holiday-themed entity, if he could recall, that took away and scolded naughty children. He wasn’t too educated on the subject himself, but he’d come across several antique cards featuring the character, which were accompanied by similar drawings as to the ones on the box. He sighed with relief, now assured that it was, in fact, a traditional character and not some sort of invitation sent to him by a cult. With that settled, he checked for wear on the paint and moved on to the contents of the box- or rather, attempted to.

For whatever reason, the lid to the box would not open, no matter how hard he pried it. He tried turning the handle to trigger the spring mechanism, which produced some cacophonic notes, but the lid remained closed. He tried it again, this time putting his ear up to its side to listen for any movement within, but no spring was heard; only the broken music box sounding out a disorganized melody. He pondered for a moment. Perhaps over time, heat had sealed the wood together, or perhaps the spring had jammed and trapped it shut somehow. Either way, his hopes for a functioning antique toy were shattered; if he cut it open somehow, it would be ruined altogether. He dismayingly put it aside on a shelf before returning to his seat and slumping down. A pleasant surprised ruined by the cruel test of time.

However, the sound of a long-coiled spring releasing in the corner of the room snapped him out of his disarray rather quick.


	3. Send In the Clowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devereaux finally discovers the contents of the box, and the contents of the box discover him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ughh, this took hours to write, and I still feel like I made it super redundant. Oh well, into the plot we go!]

Devereaux had nearly jumped out of his skin.

Shaking off the jarred feeling, he repositioned himself in his chair and registered what had happened; the jack-in-the-box had sprung open. All of his tinkering with it must have fidgeted the spring around inside, and setting it down was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. He swiveled his seat around to face the corner where he’d left it in his fit of disappointment.

The shock of what laid before him was far, far worse than the jolt he’d gotten from the box popping open.

Dev blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to ensure what he was viewing was, in fact, real. A sound rose up from his chest and caught in his throat, jutting out of him in small bursts as a stutter. In the back of his mind, he was thankful he hadn’t gotten the chance to drink more than a sip of his coffee, or the situation unfolding would have been much messier than it already was. His knees felt weak below him; he wanted to sit down, but he was locked into place by his own fear. He could feel himself getting lightheaded, but kept breathing in an attempt to maintain himself as best he could.

The last thing he wanted was to be unconscious in the same room as the thing that had revealed itself from inside the small, wooden box.

Lying on the ground in the corner of the shop was a large, bloated mass; it appeared to be a pile of fabric tubing, pale beige in color, adorned with faded red spots. It writhed as it attempted to right itself, pulsating as if it were taking deep, labored breaths. It uncoiled what Dev could only assume was its lower body, revealing the wooden box on the end of a swollen tail. It swayed back and forth as the being struggled to unfurl itself properly, after having evidently been crammed inside the small container, which produced small musical chimes with each movement. Following the body’s tangled length with his eyes, Dev could make out the end of a torso at the top of the creature’s snake-like body. It looked as though it was wearing a faded velvet coat, dyed a worn navy blue, and caked in dust. Underneath it was a yellowing ruffle vest, barely visible under the beast’s portly, writhing coils. He silently prayed to himself that, somehow, the antiquated behemoth lying before him would be unable to reveal itself fully, but his hopes were dashed almost instantly; with a few more strained movements, it pulled itself from its own tangled body and turned to face him.  
Dev couldn’t help but notice how truly pleasant the rest of the monster was when compared to its face.

In mere seconds, he had locked eyes with the porcelain face of a clown. It had finely sculpted features, each hand-painted in fading pastels, which accentuated them like mascara. Its two beady eyes were black as inkblots, and they gleamed in the light of the large window behind it. On its head was a jester’s cap, complete with several bells on each end that jingled as it moved. It had a round, button-like nose, curved up slightly like a piglet. Its jaw was hinged, not unlike that of a ventriloquist’s dummy, but was segmented as well, split down the middle as if it were the mandibles of an insect. They separated slightly and jittered, as if the harlequin-faced demon were trembling with curiosity. It held its little, gloved hands to its chest, clenched together in a delighted fashion, as it looked deep into the eyes of the paralyzed shopkeeper who cowered silently mere feet away. In the near-silence, thwarted only by the rapid pounding of Devereaux’s heart, the grotesque toy-serpent let out a soft, eager gasp.

The noise that had been brewing inside Dev’s throat finally found its way out in the form of a horrified shriek. Like a whip, the creature zipped toward him, snaring him in its thick coils. Dev let out a strained wheeze as the muscly tube squeezed the air from his lungs like a stress ball. He struggled to free himself from its grasp, but it held him firmly in place as it poised to examine him closer. Its fingers wiggled with macabre glee as it turned him this way and that, studying him from every angle. Dev whimpered and pushed at the monster’s body, trying his best to free himself from its clutches. The worm-like jester was emitting a low, rumbling noise from deep in its throat, almost like it was purring. Dev paused briefly to listen to the sound. It was almost comforting to hear, had it not been coming from a demonic jack-in-the-box. Still, it filled him with a tranquil sensation, and before he knew it he felt completely at ease, even at the mercy of his otherworldly captor. Losing himself in the sounds of its body, the purring coupled with the gentle, broken melody of its music-box tail, Devereaux was lulled into a deep, submissive sleep.


	4. Internal Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devereaux gets a little too up-close and personal with his otherworldly guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Man, this one too way too long and is way too short, but I promise the next will be better! I'm having an awful week.]

It felt like a hug.

That was the most accurate way to describe the sensation that Dev had awoken to. As he came to from his long, trance-induced slumber, he couldn’t help but feel… confined. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his head brushing against a soft, elastic ceiling. He jolted awake and studied his surroundings. He was confined! He quickly assessed the “ceiling” above him that had interfered with his movement. Surrounding him was a cramped, fleshy tunnel, elongated on both ends. It was damp, like condensation on a bottle, and had a soft pink tone to it. It pulsated in and out rhythmically, synchronized with the surrounding melody of a heartbeat. The mass encasing him was breathing, closing in on him and expanding with air in a steady pattern. Despite his fatigued state, the realization of his current situation hit Dev like a brick. He knew now what had happened while he slept, and giant clown monster or not, he was having none of it.  
“Listen,” he growled, giving the wall a stern jab with his finger, “I don’t know what you are or what is or isn’t socially acceptable where you come from, but I do not like waking up to being digested!” He sat up as best he could against the pressure of the rubbery stomach lining, pressing and holding it up to give himself more room. Letting out a tired, irritated sigh, he took a deep breath and attempted to ration with his captor. “Now, assuming you’re able to understand me, I’d really prefer if I didn’t have to take violent measures to get out of here myself, so would you please be so kind as to spit me out? The air is running thin in here, and quite frankly I’d prefer it if my family’s sole remaining heir had a more dignified fate than being food.”

As Dev awoke from his slumber, the creature rose to attention, alerted by his sudden stirring within its body. It clapped its hands together gleefully, elated that its new companion was finally up and ready to play. Unbeknownst to Devereaux, the clown had no ill intent; it had been assigned to him with an important task. It was a minion of Krampus, sent out to correct those who had lost their spirit, and Dev in particular had lost his long ago. It was their first solo mission, and one of their longer-expected ones as well, but all of this only added to their excitement. This was their very first time alone with a client, especially for a prolonged time period, which meant plenty of time to bond with their newfound friend. Feeling his struggles intensify, they tightened up their body and spat him out onto the floor.

Squinting in the sudden light, Dev hoisted himself up and rubbed his eyes, sitting on the floor and trying to adjust to the sudden change in environment. The behemoth loomed above him, swaying its tail gently but eagerly, emitting a raucous “Pop! Goes the Weasel” from the deteriorating chimes within it, and Dev stared right back; they spent an awkward moment looking into eachothers eyes, both finally getting a good look at one another, taking in every feature.

“...Thank you.” Dev muttered.


End file.
